


How to Unwillingly Teach Driver's Ed

by authoressjean



Series: Raising a Big Brother [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is 19, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent John Winchester, Humor, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, John is too old for this crap, Light Angst, Pre-Season/Series 01, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Pre-Series Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective John Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam is almost 15, Teen Dean Winchester, Teen Sam Winchester, Teenchesters, Weechester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29002701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: Sam wants to learn how to drive. Dean is less than enthusiastic, for some reason.Or: why Dean drives everywhere, and the birth of an infamous line.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & John Winchester, Dean Winchester & John Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, John Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Raising a Big Brother [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749589
Comments: 23
Kudos: 123





	How to Unwillingly Teach Driver's Ed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summer_days](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summer_days/gifts).



> This was a prompt from the amazing summer_days, who asked about where the line, "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole," came from. Given what we now know of Sam and his insistence on challenging Dean in pretty much everything (as little brothers enjoy doing), I had to wonder: why has he never contested this line? 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

“I want to learn how to drive.”

The question cut through Dean’s focus, currently on the comic book he’d found left behind under a bed in their new place. It didn’t seem to disturb Dad, who was pouring over documents he’d gotten from the local PD on their latest case. And it sure as hell didn’t seem to disturb Sam, who’d set aside his homework to watch Dean.

Dean blinked. “What?”

“I said, I want to learn how to drive.”

In the midst of Dean floundering for an answer, Dad closed his folders. “Okay, I’ve got to check something out. You two can follow after me.”

Dean immediately rose and followed their dad outside, hoping he could ignore the randomness of Sam’s question. Which, what the hell? Where was this coming from?

As soon as they got outside, however, Sam asked again. “So can I practice with the Impala?”

“No,” Dean said without thinking.

Sam frowned. “Why not?”

Dad was watching now, not frowning, but certainly watching with a narrowed gaze. Dean pursed his lips and crossed his arms. “Because you don’t have the experience.”

“And how do you expect me to _get_ that experience, Dean? By just watching you?”

All right, so he hadn’t exactly figured out the best way to go about it. But if Sam thought Dean was just going to hand over the keys to his baby, well, Sam had another thing coming. “You can practice on a different car,” Dean said stubbornly.

“ _What_ car, Dean?”

“…I’ll find one.”

“You can’t just _steal_ a car for me to practice on!”

“You’re too young anyway,” Dean insisted. “You’re only 14.”

Sam’s lips pursed in a way that told Dean his little brother was well and truly steamed. “I’m almost 15. And the first time you drove, you were 12. So don’t give me that crap.”

Well, shit. He hadn’t expected Sam to remember that, but of course he had. His brother’s memory was like a steel trap. “Where are you even going to drive?” Dean said, realizing he was grasping at straws but desperate to do _something_. “I can take you wherever you need to go.”

If Sam had been angry before, he was downright furious now. “Maybe I’d like to be alone without you for a change. No idea why.”

“All right, that’s enough, both of you,” Dad said, apparently deciding they weren’t going to clean it up themselves. “We’ve got things to do.”

“Dad,” Sam pleaded, eyes wide and hurt, and Dean just rolled his eyes. Honestly, what did that ever get his little brother? Dad was going to see right through his stupid puppy eyes and tell him what a bad idea this was.

Except Dad didn’t level his disapproving look at Sam for being unreasonable. Dad leveled it at _Dean_. “We’ll get you learning,” Dad promised to Sam.

“Not in my car,” Dean began, horror making his voice rise, but Dad kept going.

“And Dean will teach you from the passenger seat of the Impala.”

Dad hated him. This had to be about the last time Dean had done the laundry and gotten Dad’s boxers tie-dyed on accident. Or when Dean had taken Dad’s best shotgun and bent it over a black dog’s head. Or when he’d taken Dad’s last bottle of beer.

…Okay, there were a lot of reasons why Dad was doing this to him. But the worst possible reason was because he thought Sam was right and that Sam deserved to learn how to drive. In Dean’s car.

“I’m driving,” Dean said firmly. He quickly moved around the car and slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. Sam got into the passenger seat, muttering something about, “I didn’t mean _now_ ,” under his breath.

Not now, not ever. The kid didn’t need to drive. Dean would drive him wherever he wanted to go.

Sam reached for the radio and Dean didn’t even think, just smacked his hand. “Hey!” Sam protested, but Dean glared at him.

“I’m driving. _I’ll_ pick the music.”

Sam just settled back, but the scowl didn’t leave his face. “Then pick music for a change.”

Oh, Sam was just asking for it. Dean swallowed back the initial response and let the music do the talking.

As loud as he could play it.

He pulled away to follow their dad with Alice Cooper screaming, enjoying the way Sam cringed. Served him right.

It was two weeks later when Dad pulled him aside. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” Dean said immediately. Especially if it got him out of school. When they hit Florida next month, he could take the GED and be done with it, so there was no point to him going. The only reason he went was to keep an eye on Sam and make sure bullies steered clear.

His eyes darted to where Sam was currently reading something that was clearly homework, and unlike Dean, he was definitely enjoying it. It made Dean settle because there was Sammy, safe and sound and enjoying whatever he was reading, if the half-smile on his face was any indication. That was all Dean could ask for.

Dad scratched the side of his neck, something that Dean couldn’t remember him ever doing before. Wait, yes, he could, the last time they’d gone to Bobby’s place. Was his dad… _nervous_? “Dad?” he asked, frowning.

Dad finally sighed. “I want you to teach Sam to drive.”

All of Dean’s fuzzy feelings for the kid on the sofa fled out the window. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Dad said firmly. “Look, I know you’ve got a hang-up about it, for whatever reason—”

“Uh, I don’t know, because I’m pretty sure his real name is Clumsy?”

“—but you _will_ teach him how to drive. Really drive. He needs to know how.”

That was not nervousness in his dad’s voice anymore, but resolve. “Yes, sir,” Dean said sullenly.

Dad clapped him on the shoulder. “Sam, up and at ‘em,” he called, instantly catching Sam’s attention.

Wait, now? “Wait, _now_?”

“Plenty of sun left before night falls,” Dad said reasonably. “The elementary school’s just a few blocks away and the parking lot’s sure to be cleared by now. It’s a perfect place to practice driving. Go.”

Sam, who usually balked at Dad’s orders (and that teenage stubbornness could’ve come in _real_ handy right about now) perked up and immediately dove for his shoes. “Really?” he said, all eagerness.

Looked like Dean wasn’t getting a say. Fine: that didn’t mean he had to be gracious about it. “If you’re not in the car in two minutes, I’ll leave you behind,” Dean growled. He grabbed his leather jacket and stalked out into the warm evening air.

His bad mood didn’t lessen, even in the face of Sam’s clear excitement. No, it was just salt on the wound, and he simmered all the way to the parking lot. He simmered some more while he found a good spot and put the car in park. She rumbled beneath him, and he thought she sounded just as put-out as he felt.

He could be helping Dad with the hunt research. He would _love_ to be digging through witness statements and dusty tomes and a library, anything except…

“Well? Can I get behind the wheel now?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

Sam’s mood instantly soured in the way that only a teenager could manage. Dean was ignoring the hypocrisy of himself being nineteen and still fitting that bill because dammit, he had a right to be irritated. It was _his_ car that was about to be used and abused. “And why not?”

“Because you don’t know where most of anything is,” Dean said coolly. “So what’s the point of you needing to be behind the wheel where you can’t even reach the pedals?”

Sam didn’t argue, just simply stuck his hand in front of Dean. “Hey! Personal space!”

“Gas pedal, brake pedal, this is an automatic so there’s no clutch, gear shift to the right of the wheel and next to the ignition, speedometer, odometer, gas gauge, and the clock.” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Push gas, make go. Push brake, make stop.”

“There’s more to it than that, bitch, or Dad wouldn’t have told me to teach you,” Dean snapped.

He realized his mistake too late. “And Dad told you to teach me, so move over and teach me,” Sam insisted.

There were days that he loved his little brother’s brain, so freakishly smart and spinning like a top. And there were days where he wanted nothing more than to stop said top. With a hammer. The biggest he could find. “Fine,” Dean grumbled, and he slid out of the car.

By the time he reached the passenger side, Sam was already behind the steering wheel. He looked ridiculously small, feet barely reaching the pedals, and if he actually got his feet down there, he’d never see over the steering wheel. “Should’ve brought my camera,” Dean remarked with a smirk.

Sam ignored him and immediately put his hand on the gear shift. “Woah, woah, _woah_!” Dean yelped, hurrying to get in. “Is your foot on the brake?”

Sam stopped. “Um. No?”

He managed to bite back the first ten things that came to mind before settling on a neutral, “Then it needs to be.”

A foot dutifully went to the brake. There was no way it was going to be pressed hard enough to make a damn bit of difference. “Okay, we can’t do this,” Dean said.

“No, no, I’m listening!” Sam said. “C’mon Dean, I’m going to listen to everything that you say! Isn’t this a dream come true, bossing me around?”

“No, just a daily occurrence,” Dean shot back. “That’s not my point. The point is that you can’t handle this right now. You’re too short.”

Wide eyes suddenly narrowed to furious slits. “Seriously, scoot back over, and we’ll try again when you’ve grown,” Dean told him, as gently as he could. “It can’t be that far off, Sammy. Here, we can play whatever you want to listen to on the way home—”

A foot slammed into the brake. A hand wrenched the gear shift so fiercely that a nasty clunking sound resonated from the protesting gear box. The foot on the brake moved to the gas, and then they were flying forward, tires squealing.

They didn’t go far, only across about twenty or so parking spots. But by the time Sam slammed on the brakes, sending them both jerking forward, Dean’s pulse was pounding in his throat and he was ready to make his little brother walk. “What the _hell_ was that?”

“Gas and brake lesson down,” Sam said, clearing his throat. “Next?”

Dean growled and reached for the radio. If he was going to have to do this, he was going to listen to what he wanted to. As soon as he reached the knob, however, Sam slapped his hand away. “You want to die today, Sam?” Dean asked, voice dangerously low.

Sam didn’t look the least bit concerned. “What do you tell me all the time, don’t touch the radio while you’re driving? Well, then, I’m the driver, and that means I pick the music.” He glanced at Dean and added peevishly, “And shotgun can shut his cakehole.”

Dean was pretty sure his eyes were bulging out of his head. “Next lesson,” Sam said stubbornly, and that was _it_.

“You’ve figured out this much, you can figure out the rest,” Dean said. He crossed his arms and forced himself to slouch back into the seat. “Go for it, smartass.”

“Why do you have such a problem with teaching me?” Sam exploded. “You’ve taught me pretty much _everything_! So why is this such a big deal? Why can’t you teach me how to drive?”

Dean said nothing, just stayed in his stance. After a long moment of silence, Sam gave a huff of disgust and turned back to the car. “Fine. I’ll figure it out. I’ve read enough books, this should be a piece of cake.”

Good. Let him work it out all for himself, Mister Independent. Dean would sit and think about what was actually important, which was the hunt he was supposed to be helping Dad with in a few nights.

When Sam finally got out and stormed back to the motel they were staying in, Dean still slowly followed him all the way back. Because he felt like babying his baby after Sam had mistreated her, not because he was concerned about his little brother or anything.

“Go! Sam, _go_!”

Sam raced through the trees, heart lurching in his chest. His breath came in pants and his leg hurt, really hurt, from where he’d gotten thrown into a tree.

But he didn’t care, not about any of that, because Dad was crashing through the trees behind him, trying to haul Dean alongside him at the same time.

They cleared the trees, the angry sounds of the dying harpy fading behind them. Sam had never been happier to see the big black car ahead of them. Safe, they were _safe_ , and they could get Dean back to the motel and taken care of.

Then he turned around and found his stomach dropping to his shoes.

Dean wasn’t conscious anymore. Dean also had no color left in his face, and Dad was full-on carrying him in his arms, not just helping him run. “Open the back, now!” Dad barked.

“The keys,” Sam said desperately. “Dad, I don’t have the keys.”

Dad cursed something angry. “Back pocket opposite my wallet. I got a spare on my keyring, _hurry_.”

Sam dove at his dad and tried to not smell the copper tang that was filling the air. His eyes caught sight of Dean’s middle and he swallowed hard. God, there was just so much _blood_ …

“Sam!”

“Yes, sir,” he said automatically, grateful for the punch to the gut, and he grabbed the keys and pulled out the right one on the first try. He unlocked the back door and swung it open. Dad immediately set Dean down and crawled in after him.

“First aid kit,” his dad ordered next, and Sam was already racing to the trunk. He grabbed it and cast a glance at the forest. No screaming from the harpy, and nothing coming after them, either. All they needed to do was save Dean and they’d be fine.

Except Dean was getting paler by the minute, and Dad was looking more and more anxious.

Fear swelled up inside of Sam and cut off his air as he handed the kit over. “Dad?”

“Get in the front,” Dad told him, voice trembling. “You know where the hospital is?”

Sam nodded jerkily. “Good, then get us there, as fast as you can.”

Wait, him? “Me?” Sam whispered. “But Dad, I can’t—”

“I’m literally holding in what little blood your brother still has left,” Dad said. “Sam, you have to do this. Dean’s life depends on you doing this.”

Put like that, and there was nothing Sam wouldn’t do. Or try. He hurried to the front and started the car. The rumble beneath him felt monstrous.

Brake, gas, gear shift. It wasn’t that hard. He could do this. He gave himself a nod and reached for the gear shift.

“Brake first, then shift!”

“Right, right,” Sam stammered. “Sorry, I got it.” He shoved his foot down on the brake and pulled the gear shifter all the way to D. His foot slid over to the gas and they shot forward, jerking as he instinctively pulled back. Two hands on the wheel, two and ten, or was it eight and four? Middle and middle, he could do that, around the spokes of the steering wheel, were they called spokes?

“Stop sign!”

Sam slammed on the brakes, heaving for air. No one was out this late at night, but he was halfway through a stop sign and hadn’t looked both ways first. “Sorry,” Sam said again. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

“Hasn’t Dean taught you how to drive?” Dad asked. “I know you’ve only been out a few times with him—”

“He hasn’t taught me anything,” Sam admitted. Right, the hospital was to the right, and he swung a little too hard as he pulled out. He quickly pulled the wheel back, only sending the tail of the car sliding a little. Speed limit 45 miles per hour, that meant more gas. He shoved his foot down as hard as it would go, nearly pointing his toes to do it.

There was a pause. “What?”

It felt good to finally fess up to what he’d been hiding from their dad over the last few days. “He’s got something against teaching me about the car, I don’t understand,” Sam said in a rush. “The first time we went out, he was all teenage moody which he accuses _me_ of, and then he snapped at me and I…I snapped back,” he admitted miserably. “After that, he wouldn’t talk to me during the lessons. Not if I got it wrong or anything. He just sits there. I shouldn’t have snapped at him, I know.”

Dad cursed again but it was weariness now. “We’ll talk to him about it whenever he’s feeling well enough. Are you cutting through the city?”

“This is a straight shot,” Sam told him. “All the way through to the hospital.” At least he knew where to go. That had to count for something, given his crap driving skills.

“It’s also a mess of lights that’ll cut our time. We can’t afford that right now. Turn right up here and take the highway.”

Sam froze, knuckles going white around the steering wheel. “The, the highway?” The super-fast highway that meant merging? Oh god, he didn’t know how to do that yet, he didn’t know how to do any of this yet. He was going to get them all killed driving the car and maybe that was why Dean wouldn’t teach him: because he knew Sam would screw it up.

“You have to do this,” Dad said firmly. “Do you hear me? I can’t drive Sam, you have to do it.”

“I can’t,” Sam confessed. “Dad, I, I can’t. Dean was right, I can’t do this, I’ll screw it up, I’m gonna get us all killed.”

“How does Dean do it?”

“I don’t know!”

“Yes, you do,” Dad insisted. “You’ve watched him since you were old enough to lay eyes on someone. You know him better than himself. You _know_ how he drives. How does he merge?”

The entrance ramp beckoned, some sounds from the highway echoing above them. Sam slowed the car down and took the ramp as it turned and turned to the top. How did Dean merge? How did anybody merge?

Okay, not anybody, just Dean. Dean would glance at Sam with a grin before looking out the window. Right, the side mirror. Then he’d glance behind his left shoulder out the back window to get a really good look at traffic. The car would glide in and he wouldn’t break a sweat, wouldn’t fuss, just keep talking to Sam about whatever he was talking about. Piece of cake.

Sam was breaking a sweat. The merge lane approached and there were so many cars on the highway, so many, what was he supposed to do?

He glanced back in the rearview mirror, just to see traffic, and saw his brother instead. Dad’s hands were bloody against Dean’s middle, but Dean’s chest rose and fell in short, shallow breaths. Still breathing.

Dean needed him. Now, more than ever before.

Sam inhaled sharply. Side mirror: headlights behind them. He shoved himself up and half-turned to see behind them: headlights passing them. No one behind them for a while. The lanes were open.

He slid back down, hit the gas, and swung into the highway.

The hospital sign beckoned, two exits up. Sam kept the gas pedal almost to the floor as fast as the Impala would go. “C’mon,” he muttered. “He needs you. C’mon, go faster.”

There was a soft, “Atta boy,” from the back in a tired, approving tone, but he was too focused on slowing down to take the exit ramp to hear it. Dean always rode the brakes too much as they approached the exit ramp but now Sam got why. He got it now.

Four minutes later the Impala came to a screeching halt in front of the Emergency Room doors. Sam managed to find his feet enough to lumber out of the car and stagger into the room, shouting hoarsely for help. Two minutes later, Dean was on a gurney and being raced behind the doors, a team of nurses and doctors already descending on him.

After that, Sam’s feet didn’t really work anymore and he hit the floor, where he stayed until Dad found him and carefully pulled him over to a nearby waiting room chair. Then he stayed for a while longer, feet twitching like they needed to keep pushing the gas.

He was pretty sure he never wanted to drive again.

It was disgustingly bright when he opened his eyes. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the end-of-the-tunnel brightness that everyone insisted came when you died. No, it was the harsh bright of a hospital. Given what little Dean remembered, he could take three guesses as to why.

“Hey, buddy.”

Dean shifted his gaze over to where his dad sat in the chair beside his bed. His smile was open and full of relief. “That bad, huh,” Dean croaked.

“It was pretty damn close,” Dad admitted. “Far closer than I would’ve liked.”

Given that Dean’s middle felt like it was on fire, yeah, he could see why Dad still looked so relieved to have him awake. Still, there were more important things to think about. “Sammy okay?”

His dad’s smile softened. “Yeah, bud. He’s all right. Left him passed out in the waiting room with a nurse watching out for him.”

Man, it must’ve been bad, if Dad was dropping affectionate nicknames into every sentence. Dean tried to sit up but felt his muscles pull in a very angry way. Every shift he made just hurt, but he didn’t care. He wanted to see Sam for himself. The last thing he’d remembered, Sam had been tossed hard into a tree, making a whimpering sound when he’d landed. “You sure?”

“Bruised,” Dad amended. “He’ll be a little stiff the next few days, but so will you.”

“It dead?”

“Left it choking on a few bullets.”

“Good,” Dean said, finally feeling the relief himself. No, wait, sorry, that was probably the morphine kicking in. It left the world in a nice, hazy place. “Next time, I need to teach the kid to duck better. I swear, I’ll have gray hairs before I’m 20 at the rate he’s going.”

He got a raised eyebrow for that. “On the topic of teaching, you wanna tell me why?”

Dean frowned, not following very well. “Why what?”

“Why you won’t teach Sam how to drive.”

“He’s too small,” Dean said. “Dad, he can’t even reach the pedals without breaking his toes.”

“He did it just fine to get you here.”

That made him pause. “What?”

“He drove here,” Dad continued. “He had to. I couldn’t, I was busy keeping your insides where they belonged.” A shadow crossed his face, fear and loss, before he shook himself and gave Dean a smile. “He did a damn find job of it, too. His merge was as smooth as I could’ve asked for.”

“He merged into traffic?” Dean said incredulously. “Seriously?”

Dad just nodded. “I didn’t think he could,” Dean said faintly, feeling like the air had gotten sucked out of the room. “How’d he, uh, how’d he manage that?”

“The same way he got you here in time. The same way he does pretty much anything asked of him. For you.”

Dean went still. Dad was watching him with that knowing look, the one that made Dean feel like he was a spirit, see-through and so easy to take out. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it,” Dad said. It wasn’t a question.

“That’s the only thing I do for him anymore,” Dean finally said quietly. “Kid does his own homework, laundry, heck, he cooks as often as I do if not more sometimes, and he even got his sliced arm bandaged up on his own three weeks ago. Driving him around’s the only thing I can do for him, and now he’ll do that, too. Then he won’t…”

He refused to say it out loud. He wasn’t going to be that person. But deep inside of him, the words festered, unspoken and vicious. _He won’t need me._

Dad sighed and settled into the chair beside Dean’s bed. He looked exhausted, rings under his eyes, and it made Dean hurt to see. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“This wasn’t your fault,” Dad said immediately. “I’ll chew you out when it is if you put yourself or your brother in danger, but this wasn’t your fault or Sam’s. We came prepared for a ground beast, not a wounded harpy who could half fly. All right?”

Dean gave a stilted nod. “As for teaching your brother how to drive…”

Yeah, Dean hadn’t figured that would be let go that easily. He waited, half wincing in anticipation of what Dad would say.

“He told me he couldn’t do it.”

That made him pause. “He swore to me up and down that I had to do it, because he couldn’t drive,” Dad continued. “That he was going to get us killed, that he was going to screw it up. That you’d been right.”

Something inside of Dean curled up and died a little. “That wasn’t what—”

“I know,” Dad told him. Not that it was reassuring, because yeah, sure, Dad thought it was okay, but there was a little brother out there who thought that Dean didn’t want him to drive because he was, what, some sort of screw-up? Instead of the smartest and best kid Dean had ever known? It was nine types of wrong and the fact that Dean had been the one to instill that in him made his chest ache.

“I told him he had to, to save your life. Then I asked him how you did it.”

“I didn’t teach him,” Dean said, shutting his eyes. “I should’ve.”

“You did, though.”

Slowly Dean met his gaze. Dad gave him a soft smile. “I told him to remember how you did it. And that’s when he merged.”

Even while Dean sat, digesting that, Dad added, “I didn’t want you to teach him so he could drive off on his own, Dean. I needed him to know how to drive for the same reason I taught you so damn early: in case of an emergency. Like tonight. I need him to know how to handle a vehicle if you and I are incapacitated.”

Oh. That made more sense. “You could’ve just told me,” Dean mumbled.

He got rolled eyes for that. “Can I talk to Sam?” he asked, even as he yawned.

“After you rest,” Dad told him. “I’ll bring him by later. He could use a big brother talk: he’s determined to never drive again after tonight.”

Dean could do that. Dean _would_ do that. As soon as he’d slept a little. Just a nap.

He heard a chuckle from Dad. “We’ll break you out tomorrow as long as you don’t show signs of infection.”

“I want burgers,” Dean said through another yawn. “And tell Sammy…”

He was out before he could finish the sentence. For a long moment John stood there, watching him. He rested a hand on Dean’s blanketed foot and smiled.

“I will, champ. I promise.”

Then he headed out to check in with the nurse and find his youngest.

It was two days later when Dean was unofficially checked out. He’d have preferred to have been pulled out sooner, but there had been an infection, and all three of them had needed some time to recover all around. When the fever had been gone for over twenty-four hours, and Dean could actually move without completely wanting to fall over, Sam led the stealthy retreat through the staff entryway.

The Impala stood like a beacon of hope as they loaded Dean inside. “I missed you too, baby,” Dean said appreciatively, ignoring Sam’s feigned gagging in the back. Dad just grinned and pulled away.

“You good to drive for a little bit?” Dad asked. “Caleb said we can lay low with him at his cabin in Tennessee. That’s less than two hours from here.”

“I can do it,” Dean promised. He glanced back, expecting to see Sam wrapped up in a book, but his little brother had his gaze out the window, watching the scenery. Well, he could have the conversation he’d been wanting to have ever since he’d woken up in the hospital. “Though Sam could drive, if he wanted.”

Sam glanced at him, surprised. “Ha, ha. Very funny, Dean.”

“Hey, I wasn’t joking,” Dean said, and he wasn’t. “Smooth roads with little traffic and almost no red lights. You couldn’t ask for a better way to practice.”

“Dean’s right,” Dad said, all casual, but when Dean glanced at him, he had a small smile on his face. “And it’d be better for Dean to rest if he could.”

Sam kept looking at them like they had rocks for brains. “I, I can’t _drive_ ,” he protested. “I’m terrible at it—”

“You haven’t had enough practice,” Dean cut in.

“—and I’m too small—”

“You’ll grow,” Dad pointed out.

“—and I’ll just screw it up.”

Dean pursed his lips tight, wishing he could go back and zip his own lips shut. “Everyone does when they start out, all right? That’s why you need to practice.”

The car slid to a careful stop right next to where Dad’s truck was waiting. “Well?” Dad asked. “You gonna give Dean a break to rest for a little bit more or what?”

It was a sneaky tactic, and an almost cruel one to do to Sam, but it was bait that his little brother would never ignore. “Fine,” Sam muttered. “But when I crash, this is my I told you so moment.”

“So melodramatic,” Dean said while rolling his eyes. Dad just got out and headed to start up his own truck while Sam slid behind the wheel. Dad had been right: Sam didn’t look excited anymore, or eager to drive. He looked sick to his stomach and nervous as all hell.

One of these days, Dean was going to actually remember just how much his own words meant to the kid. Well, if he could tear down Sam’s self-confidence, then he had to be able to build it back up, right? “Hey.”

Sam glanced at him, eyes wide and terrified. “You’ve got this,” Dean told him. “I don’t let just anyone drive my baby.”

“You don’t want me to drive her,” Sam insisted. “I don’t know what Dad said to you but I shouldn’t be driving. You don’t have to, to let me drive out of _pity_ or something.”

“It’s all I can help you with anymore.”

That brought Sam to a stop, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Dean cast his own gaze at Dad’s truck, idling in front of them. “You’ve got everything else pretty much figured out,” he admitted softly. “Driving you around is the last thing I do for you, Sammy. But you need to learn how. So this time, I’m actually going to show you how. By the time I’m done, you’ll be the best damn driver anyone’s ever seen.” And he would be, too, his smart little brother. It made Dean’s smile broaden with pride. His kid was going to be the _best_ driver by the time he was done.

“You’re kidding, right?”

With a sigh Dean turned back to him. “It’s not that hard—”

“No, I mean, what you said. About driving being the only thing you do for me.”

Oh. That. “Sam…”

“You do _everything_ for me,” Sam said earnestly. “You go to bat for me all the time. I keep learning all sorts of things from you, and I know I always will. You keep me safe from bullies and monsters, you keep me sane when we have to move again. You’re the only person in the world that I’ve ever been able to rely on, the one I can always count on, even more than Dad.”

Sam gave him a small grin as he tried to swallow all of that down. “And I don’t think my growing up’s going to change any of that.”

“Damn straight it’s not,” Dean said, choking back his emotions. He cleared his throat and nodded to the wheel. “Let’s get to Caleb’s. Foot on—”

“The brake,” Sam finished for him. “Got it.”

Dean settled back and watched Sam slide the gear shift from P to D. Getting smoother by the minute. “Gentle on the gas. She’ll warm up fast.”

Dad took off with a nod towards them both, keeping it on the slower side for Sam. Sam pushed himself to the edge of the seat and tried to sit up as high as he could. Trying to see out the rear mirror, Dean realized. “No one’s there,” he said. “I’ll be your mirrors. Just focus on the road ahead of us.”

Sam grinned and settled back a little further in the seat as they pulled onto the road. No jerking the wheel, nothing but steady movements. Already a pro. That was his kid.

A moment later, Sam turned on the radio. “I’ve got tapes,” Dean began, except Sam wasn’t searching for a rock station. Sam had turned it to the latest pop tunes. Immediately Dean reached for the switch, but Sam waved him off.

“Driver picks the music, remember? And shotgun—”

“Shuts his cakehole,” Dean said, glaring at Sam. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Good,” Sam said gleefully, already nodding his head to the crap that was coming out of the radio.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m gonna make you eat those words.”

“You can try,” Sam said, still grinning. Dad made a left at the light and Sam followed him easily.

He’d teach Sam to drive until Sam was a fantastic driver. And after that?

Dean was _never_ letting him drive again.

**Author's Note:**

> Why does Sam never contest the line?
> 
> Because it was totally his idea first. That'll teach you, Sam...


End file.
